Message From the Past

Rovásírás, one of Hungary’s most enigmatic cultural treasures

Picture credit

Rovásirás often called the Old Hungarian script or Székely-Hungarian Rovás, this ancient writing system is a fascinating blend of history, symbolism, and linguistic mystery.

Origins and Evolution

Rovásírás literally means “carved writing,” from the verb róni, meaning “to carve.” It was traditionally etched into wood, stone, or bone.

It likely evolved from the Old Turkic script, with influences from other ancient alphabets like Phoenician and Aramaic.

The script was used by Hungarian tribes before the adoption of Christianity in the 11th century. Once King Stephen I established the Christian kingdom, Latin script became dominant, and rovásírás was gradually marginalized.

Structure and Style

Rovásírás is an alphabetic system, not pictographic or syllabic.

It includes 42 characters, but omits letters like dz, dzs, q, w, y which are rare in Hungarian.

Written right to left, similar to Arabic, which made it easier to carve while holding the writing surface in the left hand.

The characters are angular and squared, optimized for carving rather than penmanship.

Cultural Use and Symbolism

Used by shepherds and villagers well into the medieval period for tallying livestock or marking property.

In Transylvania, especially among the Székely people, it persisted longer and was even taught in schools until the 18th century.

Today, it’s experiencing a revival as a symbol of Hungarian heritage, especially among those interested in folk traditions and national identity.

Modern Relevance

Rovásírás is now encoded in Unicode, making it digitally accessible.

You’ll find it on signs, monuments, and even tattoos among enthusiasts.

Some university students use it as a kind of secret code, and it’s featured in artistic and educational projects.

Rovásírás has made a striking comeback in modern Hungarian culture—not just as a historical curiosity, but as a living symbol of identity, heritage, and even quiet rebellion. Here's how it's being woven into contemporary life:

Public Signage and Place Names

Many towns and villages in Hungary, especially in Székely regions of Transylvania, now display dual-language signs: one in Latin script and one in Rovásírás.

The town of Bugac was the first to officially adopt this practice, sparking a wave of similar signage across the country.

These signs are often seen as a cultural statement, emphasizing Hungarian roots and regional pride.

Education and Youth Culture

Some university students use Rovásírás as a kind of secret code, writing notes or messages in the script to signal insider knowledge or shared identity.

Workshops and summer camps teach children how to read and write in Rovásírás, blending linguistic education with folklore.

Art, Tattoos, and Design

Rovásírás appears in tattoos, jewelry, and graphic design as a symbol of ancestral connection or personal mystique.

Artists incorporate the script into calligraphy, logos, and digital fonts, often pairing it with Hungarian folk motifs.

Political and Ideological Use

Some nationalist groups have adopted Rovásírás as a symbol of cultural purity or resistance to globalization, which has sparked debate about its political implications.

However, many Hungarians embrace it simply as a celebration of heritage, without ideological overtones.

Epic fantasy with bits of historical facts

Book 1

https://books2read.com/Protected-by-the-Falcon-by-Erika-M-Szabo

Book 2

https://books2read.com/Chosen-by-the-Sword

Ilona and Zoltan timetravel to visit the ancestors

“Are we there yet?” Ilona asked teasingly, trying to conceal her anxiety. She knew the answer because the air smelled clean and fresh. Even the stars were brighter. It was dark, but enough light shone from the full moon. She looked around and saw a group of round, tented-looking buildings covered with leather, where small fires burned between them. Ilona remembered seeing pictures like that in a history book; they called those tents Jurtas. The river must have been very close as a light breeze carried the smell of fresh water.

“Yes, we are there. Actually, we are here in the year four hundred and five,” he explained to Ilona.

The lightheadedness was gone, and Ilona’s mind was clear. “Was it any different when you transported Ema?” she asked, feeling better.

“Well, it was as if we fused together for a second, and then we separated. With you, it seemed a little different, though.”

“How was it different?” Ilona asked, feeling the heat rise to her face.

“I had an experience that you might call… kind of... arousing.” He hesitated.

“Oh… I see.” Ilona searched her mind for the right reply. She felt embarrassed and blushed deeply. “For a second, the dizziness was the only sensation, and then it seemed as if we moved through something thick and sticky.” She had to tell a fib; she was too shy to mention that her experience traveling with him was something more personal.

He looked aside and reached for Ilona’s hand as he led her toward a Jurta standing apart from the others. “That’s because you’re not a Traveler, but a passenger, so to speak.” He laughed softly.

The Jurtas were lined up in a semicircle, leaving a wide plaza in the middle. Luckily, no one was in sight. They walked up to a tall and wide wooden pole in the middle of the circle. Ilona fingered the intricate designs carved into it. It was painted with brilliant colors. On top of was a giant carved falcon, standing with wings open wide, as if it was getting ready to take flight.

Ilona tugged at Zoltan’s shirt excitedly and whispered, “I’ve seen this place before! Every time I play my tune, I see this village in my mind or some other place pretty much like this.”

“Really? I always see this kind of place in my mind when I play my birth tune too! And I always see the Turul bird. I think everyone pictures a different place when they play. Mom says she feels like she sits by the Blue Danube in medieval times. Dad’s vision takes him back much further. It is curious that we both see a similar place and time,” Zoltan marveled, following Ilona’s gaze.

“Yes, it is,” Ilona agreed, wondering about the coincidence.

They reached the Jurta that stood a short distance outside of the circle. Zoltan grabbed the small wooden stick hanging on the side of the thick leather door cover, and lightly tapped the round drum hanging next to it.

“Doorbell,” he explained.

“Who art thou?” a pleasant voice sounded from the inside, in ancient Hunor language.

“The Traveler and the Healer are asking permission to enter,” Zoltan answered, in the same melodious mother tongue.

“Come hither.”

Zoltan pulled the thick leather covering aside and urged Ilona forward. Inside, the light was dim and flickering, emanating from oil lamps hanging on the walls of the wide, round room. Zoltan motioned for Ilona to take her shoes off at the entrance. They walked forward on the thick carpet covering the floor. A beautiful, statuesque, dark-haired woman slowly rose from a curved sofa-like piece of furniture. She wore a soft green, delicately decorated calf-length tunic, with loose black trousers. Her hair was braided with soft leather thongs. Ema was standing in the alcove. She shrieked when she saw Ilona and Zoltan and started running towards them but was stopped dead in her tracks by a simple hand gesture from the statuesque woman.

The young woman took a step toward them, “Elana, the Healer, I am called, ready to do thy bidding,” she said, and then looking at Ilona, she used an ancient ritual of submission by getting down on her right knee. That gesture was reserved only in the presence of Royalty. She exposed the left side of her neck by bending her head to the right. With one swift movement, she smoothed her long braids aside and placed her right hand over her heart.

Ilona was stunned and confused, “Why are you greeting me this way?” she asked and looked at Zoltan who appeared as puzzled as she was. He shrugged his shoulders, silently motioning that he had no idea.

“Thus, thine birthright.” Elana uttered.

“But I am not of Royalty, and I am not even sure what being one means,” Ilona replied.

“Are thee not? I say thou art, and if thee chooseth, thee couldst be more. Thy sign speaketh. On thee, the surest sign. Find thee heritage in time, thou will.” She began to stand.

Ilona was stunned. Royal? She thought. How could I be? My parents were regular people, and I only heard about the just and powerful Royals from Rua’s legends. I always thought they were mere fairy tales to entertain children in which the Royals were brave and protected good people. Elza said my birthright was to be a Healer. Why is Elana greeting me like I’m more than that? Frantic thoughts chased each other in her mind. “Please tell me. What is this sign?” Ilona asked, bursting with confused emotions.

“On thy face, thou shall beareth the sign, and thou hast the aura around thee. Accept thou the sign that shall appear when thou knowest thy destiny, as our Seer foretold thee coming.”

 Zoltan stared at Ilona. Elana noticed his confused look, smiled and turned to him. “Thou hast the aura of other sort. May hap someday the sign couldst appear, but not by right of birth. Such fate is for but the Choseth.”

Zoltan was obviously startled but didn’t ask anything.

Ema looked briefly at Elana, “Am I a Royal too, Elana? I have my Hunor mark as well, but mine is blood red, as is customary for everyone else. Ilona’s mark turned maroon on her wrist, and Zoltan’s is the same.” She smiled as she glanced at Zoltan’s arm.

Elana smiled back at her, “Your mark will appear when the time is right, and I will greet you a little differently if the time comes, and when it comes. We will find out in due time. Your future depends on many things yet been decided.”

The alphabet

https://www.authorerikamszabo.com

Oyster Wars

 History with a tasty oyster chowder recipe

Having written the blog post about Southern Maryland’s favorite seafood, the blue crab, I thought it appropriate to add another about our beloved bivalve, the oyster! I often wonder who the first brave soul was who shucked an oyster and thought, “That sure looks tasty.” Whoever they were, foodies everywhere owe them a debt of gratitude!

 Many folks are aware of the oyster's supposed aphrodisiac properties. Most know of its culinary delights, whether in an oyster stew, fried, scalded, or through fancy Oyster Rockefeller; the tasty morsels never fail to surprise the uninitiated.

Few know the entire political history of our humble seafood delicacy or the tragedies that required presidential intercession—the Oyster Wars.  Southern Maryland, and across the Potomac River near Colonial Beach, Virginia, was the epicenter of the Maryland/Virginia “Oyster Wars.” Fighting for limited resources, the combatants included oyster pirates, state authorities, and legal watermen. Most sources give the dates of these hostilities as beginning in 1865 and ending in 1962 when President John F. Kennedy signed the "Potomac Fisheries Bill.” This act established a bi-state commission to oversee the Potomac River. Even before this time, however, violent and competitive friction existed along the Potomac and Chesapeake waterways.

The demand for oyster harvesting exploded after the Civil War, with the Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries accounting for nearly fifty percent of the world's supply. This led to droves of New England fishermen encroaching on the southern waters after their oyster beds were depleted. Clandestine raids on the bay in the dark of night became the new norm. From a harvest high of 15 million bushels in the mid-1880s, the number dropped by a third in five short years.

   The wars manifested in three waves of tragedy bloodying Virginia and Southern Maryland’s waters. The conflict came to a head on April 17th, 1959, when a Maryland police boat fired upon a Virginia poacher’s oyster boat when it attempted to evade them. One of the oyster boat occupants (Berkeley Muse) yelled, “I’m hit,” and slumped over the boat’s culling board. The firing continued, and the boat’s captain, Harvey King, was hit in the leg. Rushing to shore, Muse died before the ambulance arrived. There was tremendous public outcry after the incident. This led to the disarming of the police force and eventually to John F. Kennedy’s Potomac Fisheries Commission. These actions effectively ended the bloody Oyster Wars.

OYSTER CHOWDER

INGREDIENTS

2 medium potatoes (diced)

2 pints Oysters (in their liquid)

2 ½ tablespoons Butter (unsalted)

1 medium onion (diced)

1 cup Heavy Cream

2 cups Milk

½ teaspoon Thyme

Old Bay Seasoning to taste (don’t skimp!)

 

DIRECTIONS

1. Place a sieve over a small bowl and pour the oysters through. Discard solids (grit or shell pieces) and save liquor.

2. Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Add the onions and potatoes, stirring for 2-3 minutes until they are slightly softened.

3. Turn the heat down to medium-low and add the strained oyster liquor, milk, cream, Old Bay seasoning, thyme, salt, and pepper. Heat slowly until it simmers.  Do not boil, or the milk will curdle.

4. Add the oysters to the broth and simmer for 2-3 minutes until the edges curl. You want the oysters to be tender. Overcooking will make them rubbery.

6. Enjoy!

David W. Thompson

https://www.david-w-thompson.com

David is a multiple award-winning author, Army veteran, and graduate of UMUC. He’s a multi-genre writer and a member of the Horror Writers’ Association, and the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association. When not writing, Dave enjoys family, kayaking, fishing, hiking, hunting, winemaking, and woodcarving.